Let’s start, as I usually do, with TV. Several things continued to be awesome this year, most notably Battlestar Galactica, whose hastily-truncated fourth-part-one season proved that it will leave a big hole in the listings when it concludes in a few months’ time. Heroes recovered from its Second Season Syndrome by ramping up the pace, regaining its comic-book-on-TV feel with twists and set-pieces aplenty. Lost, too, reached the heights of its premiere season again, its confirmed end date giving the series a sense that things really were leading somewhere. Even Catherine Tate (mostly) managed to prove everyone wrong to build perhaps the strongest season of Doctor Who yet.

My personal find of 2008 was Outnumbered, BBC1′s remarkably uncomplicated family sitcom featuring some astonishing performances from its child actors, particularly the girl playing five-year-old Karen, as well as Hugh Dennis’ excellent turn as the weary, sarcastic dad.

Of course there were disappointments, though – Never Mind The Buzzcocks tried its hardest but lacked some of its edge after Bill Bailey’s departure, House tried to be the X Factor and got muddled with ever-more-preposterous mysteries, that same X Factor’s winner only needed thirty seconds on stage with Beyonce to show that she was a long way from having that special presence, and the BBC ordered a third season of Robin Hood.

It was quite a good year for music. Elbow had critics fawning over them for their album The Seldom Seen Kid (admittedly very good), but I felt they were outstripped by American experimental rockers TV on the Radio, whose mesmerising Dear Science was a genuinely new sound. Coldplay proclaimed themselves a new band, wrote their most magical, uplifting song then dropped it from the album (Life in Technicolor II), and failed to endear themselves with their hidden-track antics, but still produced a good album. Keane, similarly, displayed a bold, brash new sound with the superb Spiralling but chickened out and made the rest of the album disappointingly unadventurous. Meanwhile U2 announced No Line On The Horizon, and there was much anticipation.

In the cinema, Australia made a good impression before ruining it all by going on for what felt like an entire day, and Quantum of Solace was terrible.

So, you know, roll on 2009.

It’s just a TV show. For your own good, just go outside for a while.

First up, Terry Wogan’s announced his retirement from commentating on Eurovision. Now, I know some of my (former?) readers are not so keen on old Tel, but I for one will miss him very much, his blend of sardonic wit and genuine affection for the competition a big part of why I’ve enjoyed watching it so much. He clearly doesn’t think it’s much of a contest any more – at least not the kind he’s been used to – and that’s a pretty fair criticism. The Eurovision organisers did reveal a few months ago, though, that juries were coming back to help make the result fairer, although they haven’t yet said what weight their vote will carry in relation to the public’s choice. I sincerely hope that goes a way to levelling the playing field (although as long as the public are involved there will always be some bias – obviously the juries aren’t going to be squeaky clean either, they weren’t last time they were in use). And so Graham Norton is going to take the job  – well, I can certainly think of far worse people to do it, though wouldn’t it have been brilliant if they could have persuaded Simon Amstell to do it? He’s a riot on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, BBC2′s consistently hilarious music quiz, although that particular show is missing Bill Bailey more than it wants to admit.

Another thing that happened recently but is unimportant is that Pushing Daisies is now pushing daisies. I have mixed feelings on this – while I mostly enjoyed the first season (season two hasn’t made it to the UK yet), I have serious doubts about its potential longevity and actually two seasons seems an about fair shelf life to me. I will miss Anna Friel and Chi McBride – I won’t miss the shoveling of honey down my throat and Jim Dale insisting on calling Lee Pace’s character ‘the pie-maker’.

And of course who could forget that this is the time of year for that annual triumvirate of reality TV behemoths – Strictly Come Dancing, The X-Factor, and I’m A Celebrity…Get Me Out Of Here? Sadly, I didn’t forget, despite no longer really having the excuse of ‘well, my family were all watching it’ to hide behind, and I’ve tried my best to keep up with them all. Unfortunately, the most entertaining of all of them, I’m A Celebrity Etcetera, was the one I was able to watch the least of, as its every-day-at-9pm format was clashed spectacularly most days with my student lifestyle, so I missed out on such great TV moments as eventual winner Joe Swash having his bottom felt up by Mr. Sulu, Robert Kilroy-Silk threatening Timmy Mallett for laughing at him (good on you, Timmy), and Boobs (pen name: Nicola McLean) being voted out of the jungle. It’s the only show in its genre that successfully pulls off the not-taking-itself-seriously vibe, and as such is vastly more fun than any talent contest.

Meanwhile, over a far longer and therefore more boring time period, the reliable Strictly overblew itself completely on the John Sergeant “controversy” (for Pete’s sake…) and has now gotten to the stage where the audience was tonight booing judges who scored anything lower than a 10. The feeling that anyone would probably be a deserving winner at this point has sucked a lot of the interest out of the competition – I don’t have a favourite like I usually do, they’re all very nice people and they all dance very well. At least with Sergeant there was an excitement over who would win – the judges or the public? Now there’s nothing.

And, finally, the X-Factor. Oh, God, the X-Factor. Never have I been more mystified to find myself watching a programme as I am watching the X-Factor these days. It’s weird – unlike Strictly I do have favourites (specifically, anyone who isn’t that godawful talentless loofah-haired brat Eoghan Quigg) yet I do not care one iota.  This is probably because of the ITV effect – Harry Hill showed up the all-hype no-actual-excitement approach on his brilliant TV Burp by showing how hardworking, sad-to-see-him-on-a-show-this-annoying host Dermot O’Leary not once, not twice, but eight times announcing to the audience that BRITNEY SPEARS IS HERE IN THE STUDIO OH MY GOD IT’S BRITNEY PINCH YOURSELVES THIS IS THE MOST AMAZING THING SINCE TAKE THAT CHRIST WERE THEY ONLY HERE LAST WEEK IT SEEMS LIKE ALREADY THEIR APPEARANCE ON THIS SHOW HAS PASSED DOWN INTO BRITISH FOLKLORE BY THE WAY BRITNEY IS HERE WOW! and each time the audience exploded in cheers like the hideous, mindless robots they are. Typical. And don’t even get me started on the ever-more-transparent “tension” between the judges…

Yet I still watch. It’s because of the auditions – they’re funny TV, and I somehow get into an unbreakable routine because I too am a hideous, mindless robot – but don’t get sucked into them like I did. Only suicidally-bad television that way lies. It’s too late to save me, but you can still escape!

Anyway – I’m now a university student (Translation, Media and Spanish at the University of East Anglia, since you didn’t ask) and this means that I don’t have to have a bedtime if I don’t want to. This is a bad thing.

You see, this sudden freedom comes with my late discovery of the superlative political drama series, The West Wing, that finished in 2006. I’m currently about halfway through its third season and so far it’s done a thoroughly good job of trying to kill me. It’s so good, I hardly noticed myself giving up sleep.

If you don’t know, The West Wing is set inside the White House, following the administration of fictional President Jed Bartlet. It covers all kinds of territory from election campaigns to international military crises, but despite the fact that it’s been lauded for being as close to the reality of life in the White House as could be possible on screen, the real focus is on the characters, which for me is always what lifts the truly great drama series above the rest. The entire cast is exceptional, but particular standouts are Martin Sheen as the inspirational but curmudgeonly President and Allison Janney as C.J. Cregg, his sassy, put-upon press secretary. It makes me wonder how I managed to avoid both the series and its cast for such a long time.

I’m not going to bang on about it – I certainly don’t want to tell you just how late it’s kept me up at night, as there’s an outside chance my parents are reading this and I’m hoping to get them to feed me for a month over the upcoming holiday period – but suffice to say that my one and only mention of Christmas this year will be to strongly recommend that you seek out the complete box set as a present to yourself or somebody who lives in the same house as you (trust me, that’s as far away from you as you’ll be willing to leave it). I’ve seen some great deals on it in various well-known retailers, so you have no excuse. Even if you already own it, frankly.

Before I shut up and watch some more, I feel that even though it was supposed to be for two months ago, I did promise last time around that my next post would answer some questions. And so here are the answers to those questions:

1) Yes, it’s decent, but apart from the opening two tracks, nothing is great. (But those first two are. Very.)

2) My god, it actually did! And the best man won. Optimism lives to fight another day (though I hope to be part of the crushing wave of cynicism that eventually finishes it off, if only to be popular).

3) No.

That’s all for now. Who the heck knows when I’ll be back?

- The new Keane album, Perfect Symmetry – is it any good?

- The American election – will it ever end?

- Bruce Forsyth – time to retire?

Among other things.

Stay tuned!

Yeah, thought not.

Just to apologise for disappearing, I was called away by a sudden bout of summer holiday, and got rather out of the rhythm. I do intend to be back writing this month, after I get settled in at uni, which will be a couple of weeks. But you’ve waited this long, I reckon you’ll be OK. Here’s hoping.

While I appreciate the intention, the last thing I wanted to see was Donna Noble circa The Runaway Bride. Yes, it showed us how far she’s come (and she is a lot better than she was then), but if I never hear that shout again it will be too soon. Luckily, Tate did a pretty damn good job with the rest of the episode, despite Bernard Cribbins nearly stealing the show as cuddly old Wilf.

Of course, there was only one woman I was looking out for – Billie Piper! Woohoo. Can’t help wondering why she was talking a bit funny, though – I hope that’s some weird universe-hopping side effect and will go away next week – but she radiated awesomeness as Rose throughout, despite us learning absolutely nothing about what the heck’s happening to her (“all the universes are being pulled together” isn’t as expositionary a piece of dialogue as it thinks it is). Looking forward to seeing more of her next week.

I do have to wonder if they couldn’t have done the back-bug (as it will surely become known) in a slightly more convincing fashion. I’ve been impressed with a lot of the monster work in this series but the obviously plastic creature was one of the worst I’ve seen and really undermined the danger of the situation. Budget-saving for the finale? Probably.

I loved all the little nods to other episodes and the spin-offs, of which more in the finale – brilliant news. According to those evil media types who got to see the episode already, the entire of episode 12 (titled “The Stolen Earth”) is a massive ‘squee’ moment. I cannot wait. I cannot wait at all.

Well, having been looking forward to it for quite some time, I was finally able to get my hands on the new Coldplay album on Monday, and having had three days to listen to it (and listen to it a lot) I feel I’m just about ready to pass judgement on it. It’s been pretty difficult, as Viva La Vida (no way am I using the full title, and it does at least say ‘or’) is a big step in a radical new direction for Chris Martin, Will Champion, Jonny Buckland and, uh, the other one.

The album opens with Life in Technicolor, a dreamy instrumental (aside from a few seconds of Martin wailing incoherently) with a great guitar hook that apparently once had vocals until someone described it as an obvious single. That says a lot to me about how committed Coldplay are to making this album different, so I’m already interested. Life in Technicolor doesn’t go anywhere in particular – it’s only two minutes or so anyway – but is a pretty good intro and leads on very quickly into the meat of the album.

And what a song to lead on to. Cemeteries of London is by far my favourite song on the album, and is right up there with the best the band has done. Chris Martin wrote it overnight in response to an assistant producer working with head honcho Brian Eno dismissing his songs as ‘incomplete’, which makes me feel that people should insult his songs more often (I got the feeling enough people did anyway, but apparently not). It’s a mesmerising ghost story that mixes the sinister with the wondrous beautifully. It’s Coldplay Do Folk Rock and it’s worth the price of the whole album. If you haven’t heard it already, find it.

Then comes another highlight (though not quite on the same level as the above), Lost!, which is made great by the amped-up percussion that becomes a theme of the New Coldplay as the album goes on, maintaining a steady but urgent rhythm that should become a highlight of their live shows.

Next is 42, Viva La Vida’s most complex track, that goes through three distinct phases (one of them twice) in the space of four minutes, contemplating life and death and such things in typical Martin style. The variations jarred a bit at first but having gotten used to them I’m growing to really like 42, particularly the Rammstein-inspired electric guitar riffs in phase two.

Now then, Lovers in Japan. Oh, and Reign of Love. Yes, in the most annoying thing Coldplay have ever done (and I include Fix You in this superlative), it’s the first of three tracks actually containing two songs each. The later two are ‘hidden’ tracks but they’re the most obviously placed hidden tracks I’ve ever seen. Sadly, while all three are vaguely interesting, they all bog down the songs they’re attatched to. In this case, Lovers in Japan is one of my favourite songs on the album, an optimistic jaunt that just avoids being too plinky-plonky by speeding up the piano part, but I feel far less induced to listen to the track because Reign of Love, that follows it, is by far the most boring part of Viva La Vida. It’s quite pretty but utterly uninteresting and I’ll be chopping the track in two as soon as I figure out how to.

After that is another two-parter, Yes and Chinese Sleep Chant, which, while both songs are better than Reign of Love, add up to the dullest full track of the collection. Yes sees Martin get rather disturbingly raspy in a song that sounds like a creepy stalker’s anthem. In theory, that sounds great, but Chris Martin is nobody’s idea of a creepy stalker and it all falls a bit flat. Chinese Sleep Chant is interesting, and fairly bravely fades the vocals into near-incomprehensibility as a wave of guitars carries the song through. It’s just two and a half minutes of the same thing, though, and gets boring pretty quickly. Let’s move on.

The title track is of course featured on That iTunes advert, which makes it sound brilliant, cut down to a couple of lines of verse and chorus. The longer version manages to strip away most of the impact of the chorus – there’s very little to tell between it and the verses after the first instance of the chorus – and it ends up being a bit too similar to the Really Exaggerated Sentiment Syndrome that troubled bits of X&Y. I’d rather have the 30-second TV version on my iPod, frankly, but it’s still enjoyable to an extent. Lyrically, it’s even bigger than before.

Then the album rockets back into form with lead single Violet Hill, an anthem led by a fantastic stomping drumbeat and big guitars (which continue to be one of the big selling points of the album) and, for a change, a one-line chorus that doesn’t get tangled in any of Martin’s overworked metaphors (“If you love me, won’t you let me know?”). This must be absolute gold live, and is the closest contender for Cemeteries of London’s Best Song On The Album crown.

Strawberry Swing betrays Coldplay’s introduction to Malian band Tinariwen, who I’ve been listening to before and are well worth investigating (think hypnotic African guitar and you’re most of the way there), and the influences are large. I had difficulties with it at first, much like I felt with Tinariwen, but I’m liking it more every time, being one of the most relaxing tracks and arguably the most different thing Coldplay have done.

Finally, Death and All His Friends closes the album (before being undermined by unnecessary Life in Technicolor reprise The Escapist) with a slow-burning, words-light delight and an infectious closing chorus. Another of my favourites, but I really do wonder why they bothered with The Escapist.

All in all, Viva La Vida does require several listens before it can be properly appreciated but is well worth it. When it’s good, it’s brilliant, and represents a really interesting change of direction for the band. Contrast with U2, whose new album later this year will almost certainly be the same as How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb (I’ll probably love it anyway, of course).

Midnight turned out to be the scariest episode of the series so far, easily surpassing the creepy Silence in the Library, and though it was a different type of fright than Blink, I think it was right up there with my much-trumpeted favourite ever episode for the scare factor. Lesley Sharp was mesmerising as the woman possessed by the voice-stealing monster without a name. As commented on by the (pretty good) supporting cast, her eyes were what really did it. I was expecting some hideous face contortion when she turned around to face us after that build-up, but the simple reveal of the same face but different aura was excellent.

The best bit was how scary we humans were made to look. The mob mentality kicked in subtly, and though as a viewer you knew the Doctor was right, you empathised totally with the passengers and genuinely feared for his life. It was sickening, but utterly compelling.

And I have to say, while she’s been getting a bit better recently – wasn’t it lovely to have an episode almost entirely sans Donna? I didn’t notice until she came back at the end just how much I really wasn’t missing her in the slightest. Luckily for me, next week’s ep is the Doctor-light one with much more of her, but it doesn’t matter, because ROSE IS BACK! YES!

I’m excited.

So, better start with the Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead two-parter that aired over the last two Saturdays. And wasn’t it bloody brilliant! Coming just after the news that writer Steven Moffat is replacing Russell T. Davies as showrunner from season five onwards was released couldn’t have been a better time – we’ve been reassured completely with these two episodes that the show is in safe hands.

Where to start? The shadow monsters, the Vashta Nerada, were genius, playing tricks with lighting rather than huge special effects for maximum scare value. That throwaway line about being able to see the Vashta Nerada as the specks in sunlight was typical Moffat, finding little ways to terrify small children, like he did with statues in last season’s stunning Blink.

I guess we’ve also been successfully hoodwinked, myself included, by the line in Planet of the Ood warning that “the Doctor’s song must end soon”. Originally, as documented here, I’d thought that meant imminent regeneration for the Doctor, but no – clearly, the word song had a capital S, and I’m hugely looking forward to seeing River Song’s next (or technically first?) appearance sometime in the future. Is she a future companion, or, seemingly more likely, a future wife? Brilliantly played by Alex Kingston, her death scene in particular was heart-wrenching.

My favourite episode of the relaunched series ever? Probably.

A quick word on the Britain’s Got Talent and Pushing Daisies finales – I might have done more if I’d had time closer to their broadcasting, but such is life – rather good. I’d been rooting for dance group Signature in BGT since their audition (if you haven’t seen their first audition, YouTube it. It’s hilarious), but considering some of the dross that was in the final (Cheeky Monkeys anyone?), George Sampson was a worthy winner. I may now tune in for 2 minutes of the Royal Variety Show later this year (OK, no I won’t). Pushing Daisies has flown by, though, and I will be tuning in to season two (that’s assuming ITV don’t drop even more episodes). I’d like to see them pushing the format as much as they can, though, as I suspect more of the same may grow tiresome very quickly – mind you, I said that about the series as a whole after watching the pilot, so…we’ll see. I’m still, of course, in love with Anna Friel.